


Like A Prayer For Which No Words Exist

by doctormccoy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and anxiety, Blueberry pancakes, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Relationship, Emotions, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Inordinate amounts of romance and fluff, Loose tie ins to the Age of Ultron, M/M, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, PTSD, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, References to past torture and violence, Sam and Bucky take care of each other, Superheroes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve is summoned to New York by Tony Stark for an important meeting of the Avengers Sam wants nothing more than to be able to go with him, but, he's got his own mission to complete and it currently involves blueberry pancakes at three in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Prayer For Which No Words Exist

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for the ever lovely [doomburgerdoodles.](http://doomburgerdoodles.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This was written before we knew basically anything about Age of Ultron except that there's a fight and the Avengers end up on a farm at some point so it is not AOU canon compliant. (But that's not necessarily a bad thing.)
> 
> “You're in a car with a beautiful boy,  
> And you're trying not to tell him you love him,  
> And you're trying to choke down the feeling,  
> And you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you,  
> Like a prayer for which no words exist,  
> And you feel your heart taking root in your body,  
> Like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.”  
> -Richard Siken

Sam always expected his life after the war would be pretty straightforward and predictable. He’d continue his work with the VA, meet a nice girl, settle down and have a couple kids, get a dog and a nice house. Maybe take a desk job with the military when he got older and needed to put away for college funds and the like. 

Those plans, of course, did not involve Captain America showing up on his back porch with the Black Widow and a World War II era Nazi organization hot on their heels, but, Sam was a pretty flexible guy. 

Now, though, Sam could safely say he was so far off track for the original life goal of two point five kids and a pool in the backyard that it was quite possible he was on another planet entirely. 

Bucky makes a small noise of distress in his throat and rolls over so he can curl himself against Sam’s chest in his best imitation of a land octopus and Sam wonders when, exactly, a smart, pretty wife and a normal, boring life had changed into becoming best friends with Captain America and falling in love with said Captain’s former best friend from the 40s turned brainwashed super assassin turned recovering, traumatized prisoner of war. 

“It’s okay, Bucky. Just a bad dream,” Sam murmurs, fingers sliding through Bucky’s tangled dark hair to try and soothe him back to sleep. Bucky looks up from the safety of his shoulder with eyes that are just a little too over bright to be normal, a muscle tic twitching in his jaw. Sam’s just glad this particular night terror hadn’t involved a violent ending; his shoulder still aches from the last time Bucky had come up swinging from the depths of his bad memories.

Bucky had a lot of nightmares, which was unsurprising when you knew the kinds of horrors he had survived, and they had only grown worse in the wake of Steve’s sudden departure. He has his own room but preferred to sleep in Steve’s bed rather than in his own, insisting that the company helped with the nightmares.

When Steve is summoned to New York by Tony Stark for an important meeting of the Avengers Sam wants nothing more than to be able to go with him, but, he's got his own mission to complete and it currently involves blueberry pancakes at three in the morning.

“C’mon, then. Let’s get up for a bit and see if that helps,” Sam sighs, ignoring the clenching feeling in his chest when Bucky’s expression softens into one of relief and gratitude. He’s been sleeping in Sam’s bed since Steve left for New York and Sam can’t deny he likes the way Bucky feels tucked up in his arms or curled against his back. 

Bucky trails along behind him beneath comforting layers of clothing no doubt chosen because they smell like Steve and Sam’s heart leaps into his throat when Bucky’s hand worms it way into his own as they make their way down the hall. 

This air of trust between them is still so fragile and new and Sam is afraid of the implied temporary nature of it. 

Bucky’s still healing, still struggling to find the pieces of himself amidst the rubble of the Winter Soldier and Hydra. When Steve was here he helped Bucky fit those pieces together but now Steve is gone for an indefinite amount of time and Bucky still needs someone to look beneath the charred remains of who he once was to find who he’s supposed to be. 

Bucky doesn’t need Sam specifically but Sam is the only one who is here, so it’s his job to take up where Steve left off and hope he doesn’t muck it all up before he comes back. 

“How about pancakes? My Ma always used to make them for me back when I first came home from overseas.”

Little glimpses of himself between the façade of strength and reassurance he knows he has to offer up. A show of empathy and understanding, of a world where Sam Wilson might just be able to comprehend Bucky’s struggle towards recovery. Bucky smiles gratefully and nods, still not quite at the point of words with the fleeting snatches of the nightmare around the edges of his consciousness. Sam smiles back and carefully, regretfully, detaches his hand from Bucky’s and turns towards the stove, forcing his lungs to expand around several deep, steadying breaths.

Sam Wilson is in love with Bucky Barnes but Bucky Barnes is in love with Steve Rogers and how could he ever compare to the shining North Star that Steve has always been in Bucky’s eyes?

He mixes together flour and sugar and frozen blueberries without much attention to the process, allowing his mind to drift towards a place where Bucky allows Sam to take him out on a date. A proper date, fit for one who has seen so much and yet deserves far better. 

A surprised twitch when cold metal fingers brush against his elbow and he turns to stare at a man who is looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky and Sam isn’t used to being on the receiving end of that quiet gaze, only hoping that Bucky can’t hear the quickening beat of his heart against his rib cage.

“Can you show me?” Bucky is asking and it takes Sam several long seconds to comprehend the meaning of the words so lost is he in the affectionate crease of lines at the corners of Bucky’s tired eyes.

“Show you?” he echoes softly, eyebrows drawing together briefly before Bucky reaches out to fold his hand around the wooden spoon Sam is holding, fingers overlapping and sending a spark of delight to bloom in the pit of Sam’s belly.

“Show me how to make blueberry pancakes.”

Sam’s pretty sure his heart is just about ready to burst from his throat when he nods and takes a step back, intending for Bucky to take over at the mixing bowl for him.

“Yeah, I can show you.”

But instead of moving in to take Sam’s vacated spot Bucky slides himself into the space between Sam’s chest and the stove, his skin warm in all the places where they’re suddenly touching. Sam notices that the sweatshirt Bucky is wearing displays the logo of the VA office Sam works at and heat spreads through him like honey, slow and sweet and dangerously addicting. 

Daring to hope, Sam slides his other palm over the back of smooth metal and guides Bucky’s hand to grip the side of the bowl, leaving his own cradled there for as long as Bucky will allow it. 

“I have the actual recipe written down somewhere for you, if you want. My Ma’s special blueberry pancake recipe. Her secret is to use brown sugar instead of regular sugar,” Sam murmurs, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder as the former assassin listens to his instructions, and Sam lets himself believe for the moment that the shiver that briefly wracks Bucky is one of delight at being close like this. 

“And then you just mix it all together. Dry stuff first, then the wet, and the blueberries for last. And the best part is you can put as many blueberries as you want.”

Sam’s chest clenches again at the small but unmistakable sound of Bucky chuckling, watching as Bucky starts to rotate the spoon through the mix again.

“At what point does it just become madness to keep adding more blueberries, though?” Bucky asks in a low murmur, his mouth quirking up into a grin at the corner when he turns to meet Sam’s gaze. 

“Probably… Probably when it’s more blueberry with some pancake and less pancake with some.. blueberry,” Sam replies distantly, gaze flitting distractedly to the red flush of Bucky’s mouth, faintly puffy from the way Bucky gnaws on his lips when he’s anxious. 

Bucky’s head cocks to the side ever so slightly and Sam knows he’s being studied, now, sharp eyes no doubt cataloging the undeniable shape of want in Sam’s expression.

Sam doesn’t dare to move an inch when metal warmed by his own touch trails curiously over the high arch of his cheekbones, tracing down along the sharp curve of his jaw. 

“I like blueberries,” Bucky says and Sam is momentarily baffled becaue he’s too entranced by the cautious look of need in Bucky’s eyes to even remember what blueberries are anymore. But then Bucky is tugging his face the rest of the way down and Sam can’t think, can’t breathe, and Bucky allows Sam to kiss him, opens up and invites him in as if he’s wanted him here all along. 

Bucky who laughs when Sam tries to pick him up and fails because his metal arm alone weighs more than the rest of his body. Bucky who instead chooses to guide them both into the living room until Sam’s legs thunk against the couch and follows him down onto the soft tan cushions, knees sliding into place on either side of Sam’s thighs. 

Bucky who remembers the ways to kiss someone until they’re breathless, sighing when Sam’s fingers trail under the hem of grey cotton until they find the warm skin hidden beneath. 

It’s Bucky’s first time with another person like this since before the War and Sam wants to take it slow, kissing every inch of Bucky’s tan skin as it’s revealed to him. He denies just how good it makes him feel to see their clothes in a pile together on the carpet. 

Sam memorizes every curve of muscle and every knot of scar with lips and tongue, hands trailing up his spine to map out the twists and turns of his body. Bucky comes alive beneath Sam’s touch, one hand doing its best to hold onto Sam’s short hair while the other grips the back of the couch, as if trying not to float away from the shock of pleasure curling through him.

He melts into the desperate way Bucky kisses him and moans weakly around Bucky’s tongue, hips lifting up obligingly when strong fingers are tugging insistently at his sweatpants, clearly offended that Sam is the only one still clothed in any sense of the word. 

The first brush of Sam’s cock against Bucky’s is all but electrifying and Sam swallows down Bucky’s needy whimper with a greedy noise of want, sliding his hands down to grip at the narrow V of Bucky’s hips. 

“You’re amazing,” Sam hisses into the sweat slick skin Bucky’s throat, shivering when the other man rocks their bodies together, right hand curling around their cocks to keep them flush against one another while metal fingers dig delicious bruises into Sam’s shoulder. 

“So amazing and strong and I’ll never know what I did to deserve someone like you-“

Sam mouths the words like a prayer around kisses that convey ‘I love you’ more than speech every could and he bucks his hips up to meet Bucky’s, arms curling around his body to hold him close. Their forgotten pancakes are still sitting in the kitchen, patiently waiting for their return once long repressed needs and desires have been satisfied. Sam has danced around Bucky for many months and he finds himself lamenting precious time lost in a world where he assumed Steve was the only one Bucky could ever want like this. 

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Bucky growls, his eyes filled with emotions that Sam can’t find the words for and mouth curved into a smile that says ‘I love you, too’.

Hard pressed to ignore such a delightful command Sam surges up to capture Bucky’s mouth with his own once more, managing to knock them both off the couch to twine together on the carpet like two halves of one complete being, Bucky pressing down on top of Sam to rub their aching erections together. 

Sam kisses Bucky like he needs it more than breathing and gasps wetly, shivering at the roaring swell of pleasure and want and _need_ that surges through him when Bucky chases his hands with his own, palms cradled together against the cream carpet of their home. The home that Sam had bought for them as a safe, secret place for Bucky to find himself.

“Bucky-” he wheezes, feeling like the air has been punched from his lungs when Bucky chokes off a cry that sounds deliciously like Sam’s name and comes between their bodies, hips still rocking slickly against Sam’s as he chases each crescendo of pleasure washing through him. Sam doesn’t need much more persuading to follow him over the edge to oblivion, adding to the mess painting their bellies with a soft sigh, clutching at the fingers still knotted around his own. 

It’s only in the moments that follow that a creeping sense of fear spreads out from Sam’s heart, filling him with ideas that Bucky only needed the release. That Bucky wanted sex but not Sam, needed someone to fill the void left by Steve until he returned from New York. 

He’s glad he doesn’t dare give voice to these thoughts when Bucky finally leans up out of the curve of Sam’s neck to look at him, expression nervous but steely, as if struggling to resign himself to the fact that maybe Sam is the one that doesn’t want _him._

“You’ve got a little something,” Sam hears himself saying, untangling one hand so he can reach up and rub away a smear of what looks like pancake mix, of all things, from Bucky’s cheek. Bucky cocks his head to the side again, cataloging this new development, before he turns and captures Sam’s thumb between his lips, teeth scraping across the sensitive pad and soothed by his tongue a moment later. 

Sam wants nothing more than to roll them over and fuck him until they’re both breathless and boneless but somehow manages to reign himself in, knowing full well that the momentary twist of heart stopping desire has translated onto his face by the smug look of satisfaction he gets from Bucky. 

“How about we go take a shower and see if I can’t get a whole lot of something?” Bucky murmurs, the words rumbling out of his chest like the literal definition of sin.

Sam decides that if Bucky’s a sin then he will gladly become a sinner if only for the sake of seeing him like this for the rest of time, relaxed and at ease with a smile on his lips. This is a Bucky who has, even if only for a few brief seconds longer, has forgotten the need for constant vigilance. A Bucky who has let go of his fear of Hydra lurking around every corner.

Sam and Bucky waste all the hot water because they’re too involved with one another to actually do much showering. Bucky tastes like molasses and sunshine and Sam kisses him until their mouths are swollen and sore from it and then kisses him some more, his jaw aching with the pleasant reminder that Bucky is his, now. 

Bucky’s the first to yelp when their shower starts to grow chilly and his hand jerks away from Sam’s hardening cock like it’s on fire, stepping out from under the spray with a shocked expression. They’re both left to stare at one another with the rapidly cooling water between them until Sam starts to laugh, causing an amused smile to spread across Bucky’s face. 

There are pancakes finally but they’re more like blueberry pancakes at almost six in the morning rather than at three that somehow turns into Sam and Bucky feeding each other with syrup sticky fingers they lick clean, mouths inevitably drifting together again like they’re magnetized. They manage to make it back to bed just as the sun is coming up but there isn’t much sleeping between the insistent press of Bucky’s fingers against Sam’s hips and the slick glide of skin and mouths. Sam ignores the ringing of his cellphone in favor of the tight clench of Bucky’s body and the soft sounds of pleasure he’s able to pull from those kiss swollen lips.

Sam’s phone doesn’t ring again until he’s in the middle of the produce aisle the next day trying to decide if Bucky would prefer red peppers or green in the stir fry they’re going to make tonight. He turns to just ask Bucky, whose hand is wrapped tight around Sam’s even as he scans the people around them for any sign of a threat, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the loud trill of a cymbal interrupts him. 

“Marvin Gaye, 'Trouble Man',” Bucky murmurs absently, intently studying a well dressed businessman a few displays over comparing two different kinds of grapefruits, “Steve is calling.”

Sam snorts and makes a comment about astute observations from the world’s best sniper and dodges a vengeful elbow before he hits the ‘accept call’ button, cradling his phone against his ear while he picks up a red and green pepper in each hand, weighing them thoughtfully.

“Already missing us?” Sam asks, arching an eyebrow at Bucky and silently holding the peppers up for his assessment. Bucky shrugs to indicate his lack of preference and Sam replaces the green pepper with another red one, his favorite kind, bagging them up and dropping them into their carriage. If there are ingredients for more blueberry pancakes in the cart that somehow made their way there without his assistance then he doesn’t remark on it. It’s so rare for Bucky to pick things for himself that Sam certainly isn’t about to point it out the one time he does. 

He notes, with no small amount of pride, that there’s also a bag of sour candies and box of brightly colored cereal he doesn’t remember putting in there. It’s not much but it’s a start and Sam’s almost sad that Steve isn’t here to see it.

_“Something’s happened, Sam.”_

The smile fades off Sam’s face so fast he knows Bucky’s realized something is wrong, eyes darting around to make sure no one is close enough to overhear them before he leans in closer to Sam, trying to catch what Steve is saying. 

_“Some sort of… sentient robot that Bruce and Tony made has gone rogue. We’re going to try and stop it but it’s strong. It seems to have some sort of ability to mess with other pieces of technology and Stark Tower is full of other robots and suits for it to take control of.”_

Steve sounds tired and Sam wonders if they’ve already tried to fight against this creation of Stark’s and lost. 

“Do you need me to catch the next flight out?” Sam asks quietly, feeling Bucky’s hand go rigid in his own.

He’s almost relieved when Steve says ‘no’, leaning in just enough to bump his forehead reassuringly against Bucky’s. 

_“We can handle this. I need to know Bucky’s safe and you’re the only one I can trust. We haven’t ruled out Hydra’s involvement in this just yet and I’d rather him be as far away from this fight as possible in case they are.”_

Sam hums his agreement and casts a look at Bucky, whose face is carefully neutral. Sam’s aware that Bucky doesn’t much like the way Steve still handles him with kid gloves. It was part of the reason why he was so willing to let Steve leave for a while and remain behind with Bucky. He knows Steve’s concern and overprotectiveness come out of a place of love for his long lost best friend but sometimes he could see it was doing more harm than good. If Steve knew Sam was taking Bucky to the grocery store he’d probably have a meltdown and catch the next plane back to DC, upcoming battles with evil sentient robots notwithstanding.

“Alright, Steve. I’ll trust you. But if things start to go south and you feel like you need an extra pair of hands please give me a call. It won’t do anyone any good if you all go and get yourselves killed by Bruce and Tony’s Science Fair project.”

Steve manages a weak but relieved sounding laugh and Sam sees a little of the tension between Bucky’s eyebrows ease ever so slightly at the sound of it. If Steve was still well enough to laugh then surely things couldn’t be too bad off.

_“I’ll call you with an update once we get things sorted out here.”_

There’s a brief sound of a woman’s voice echoing in the background and Sam can’t help but grin at the world weary sigh Steve breathes into the phone.

_“And Natasha says Bucky better be prepared for her next visit because Pepper gave her a Stark Black Card and she’s taking him out to get a new wardrobe that’s, quote, ‘more befitting of a man with his physique and jawline living in the twenty first century’.”_

Bucky’s look of utter dismay is beautiful and Sam can’t help but bark with laughter, hearing the long suffering tone in Steve’s voice that means he already tried to argue with Natasha about this and failed spectacularly. If there was anyone that could convince Steve to let Bucky out of the house it was Natasha Romanoff.

“I’ll let him know. You take care of yourself, Steve. Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam chuckles, watching Bucky’s face twist painfully when Steve laughs back.

 _“How can I when you took all the stupid with you?”_

Sam is startled when Bucky’s hand shoots out to take the phone from him and crams it against his own ear, his eyebrows knitted and mouth set in a grim line.

“Steven Grant Rogers you come back to DC in one piece or so help me God I will find your Ma’s ghost and tell on you so she can make your afterlife a living Hell for being so goddamned stubborn,” Bucky growls and Sam can hear the note of surprise from the other side of the phone but not the words themselves. 

“Yes I left the house, you fat head, did you think I was just going to stay cooped up in there forever without you here to nanny me back into bed?”

Sam covers his mouth to keep from bursting out into laughter, his sides heaving with the effort when he hears Steve’s defensive, offended voice trying to protest that he certainly never did no such thing. 

“You wouldn’t even let me get the mail at the end of the driveway. I am a former assassin not a sickly three year old and I have been looking after myself far longer than you’ve been awake and gracing the world with your ugly mug and if I want to go to the grocery store with Sam and make some attempt at having a normal life then you can’t stop me,” Bucky snaps and Sam waves off the curious stare of a woman that wanders by them, wiping the tears of laughter that are gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Just rehearsing for a play, sorry. You’ll never know when artistic inspiration strikes,” he explains, waving his finger in a circle at Bucky that suggest he wrap the conversation up before it gets any more heated and draws unwanted attention.

“And I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, Steve, but have you considered that maybe I don’t need to be coddled like I’m about to snap at any moment? That maybe it doesn’t really help me for you to always act like I’m on the edge of breaking every time I have a nightmare?”

Sam can hear Steve murmur something on the other end and Bucky’s expression softens just a touch, the hand around Sam’s phone trembling ever so slightly.

“I know, Stevie. But maybe it’s about time you let me decide what’s best for me. I’m not the same man I was when I showed up on your doorstep and asked for your help. I’m better than I have been in a long time and I don’t need you to molly coddle me anymore. I don’t need a babysitter, Steve. I need my best friend.”

This time Sam turns away to give them both some semblance of privacy, staring at the zucchini squash and wondering if Bucky might like kebabs tomorrow. 

“I love you, too, you big mook. Now go pick your fight with Stark’s new pet project so you can come home. Sam is teaching me how to cook.”

Sam turns around at the mention of his name just in time to catch the crinkle of fondness at the corners of Bucky’s eyes. It’s not for Steve, though. The affectionate look is aimed squarely at him and it fills Sam with a comfortable kind of heat that spreads to the tips of his fingers, warm and reassuring.

“Yeah, I am happy. Call again soon, Stevie.”

Bucky melts easily into Sam when he’s tugged in for a kiss and Sam wonders, not for the first time, what he ever did so right to deserve someone like Bucky.

A carton of ice cream makes it into the cart by Bucky’s hand and they eat it together on the couch that night, curled up against one another and far more interested in chasing the lingering taste of chocolate on each other’s tongues than they are in the science fiction movie on the television. 

The next morning CNN announces that the Avengers were defeated by this new enemy and have gone missing. Sam’s phone doesn’t ring and when he tries to call Steve all he gets is an automated voice saying the number he has dialed cannot be reached. 

Bucky locks the bathroom door and doesn’t come out for hours. Sam ends up climbing into the bath tub with him and they spend the night there, Bucky’s face hot and damp against the crook of his throat and fingers trembling around handfuls of Sam’s t-shirt. 

They fight the next morning when Bucky wants to go to New York in search of Steve and their friends and Sam refuses. It’s too dangerous and Sam had promised Steve neither of them would go to the city. That they would wait for him to call before they made a move. 

Bucky snarls that Steve can’t call them if he’s dead and storms off, leaving a heartbroken Sam in his wake.

He comes out from the chilly silence of the bedroom he’s really only ever used to store his things and curls against Sam’s back while he makes lasagna for dinner, forehead pressed into the space between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers and Sam is sorry, too. He turns around and pulls Bucky close, nudging their foreheads together so Bucky can see the regret and sadness in his own face.

“Steve’s gonna call. I feel it in my gut. We just gotta give him time to find a way to contact us,” Sam says softly and Bucky nods, metal fingers cool when they cup against the back of Sam’s neck. Bucky can sense Sam is just as upset as him and the uncooked lasagna ends up in the fridge for another night as Bucky pulls out ingredients for blueberry pancakes.

Sam watches Bucky mix together ingredients with a tired feeling of contentment, his chin propped up on his fist and his cellphone laying silently in the middle of the kitchen table. Bucky sits on his lap and feeds him each syrup sticky bite and Sam allows himself to forget, for just a moment, the painful fear that Steve might never call and their friends are dead amidst the rubble of New York City. 

It’s three in the morning when his phone goes off on the bedside table and Bucky’s the first one to grab it despite the way he’s cocooned against Sam’s chest in a pile of blankets that smell like sex. 

“Steve?” Bucky demands in a breathless voice and he and Sam both go boneless with relief when Steve’s voice echoes out of the speaker, sounding tired but definitely, completely alive. 

_“We’re okay, everyone’s okay. Tony managed to find us a way out of the city and we’re regrouping at Clint’s farm out in the countryside. Ultron is stronger than we anticipated,”_ Steve murmurs on the other line, his tone apologetic as if he already understands how much he’s put them through. 

_“My phone got destroyed in the fight and it took a while for me to get a new one that can’t be traced by Ultron.”_

Sam rubs a hand across his eyes as he tries to comprehend the enormity of the situation they’ve landed themselves in, already feeling the exhaustion creeping into his body. 

“Where do you need us to be?” Bucky asks and Sam can already taste the bitter frustration when Steve immediately shuts down that line of thinking, regretful but firm.

 _“I need you and Sam to stay where you are. No one has found you, yet, and I plan to keep it that way. The instant the media finds you Ultron will know where you are, too, and he’ll take you both out. If things go so far south that we feel we can’t do this on our own then I’ll call you but right now I need you both to stay put.”_

Sam has started to realize what Steve is getting at, however, and the resigned set of Bucky’s shoulders lets him know he’s also figured out what Steve isn’t saying out loud.

“You need someone in reserve that Ultron doesn’t know about in case the Avengers are defeated. A last line of defense,” Sam says quietly, combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair as much to soothe him as it is to calm himself. Steve grunts in reluctant agreement and the three of them go silent for several long moments.

“Be careful, Steve. I just cleaned my arm and I don’t want to get it dirty again so soon,” Bucky murmurs in an attempt to lighten the mood, all but cradling the phone to his chest now. Steve chuckles weakly on the other end of the line.

_“I will. You be careful, too, Buck. Both of you. I’ll call again soon.”_

Bucky waits until Steve hangs up before he speaks again, letting Sam bundle him up in a hug that’s just shy of being too tight.

“I really hope you do.”

Neither one of them sleep much after that. There are leftover pancakes in the fridge that get eaten cold right out of the tupperware on the kitchen floor, propped up against the cupboards with their fingers tangled between them.

Life falls into a comfortable routine after that. Sam teaches Bucky how to cook and Bucky guides Sam through clumsy lessons in Russian, terms and conjugations written out in Bucky’s flawless cursive and pinned on the fridge for Sam to memorize. Sam introduces Bucky to _Star Trek_ and Bucky reads Sam his favorite Asimov novels, a gift from Natasha when she’d learned he was holed up with Sam and Steve in DC. 

They take more care to disguise themselves when they leave the house. Bucky comes with Sam to the grocery store and learns what kinds of soups are his favorite, filling the cart a little more each day with snacks and cereals and fruits that he enjoys, even if Sam does not. Sam takes him to see a romantic comedy and they end up kissing in the back row through most of it. 

Some nights Sam makes Bucky come apart with fingers and mouth, their bodies tangled together, seeking comfort in the warmth of another’s skin. They both welcome the dreamless sleep afterwards, lips brushing with unspoken words of love and need and want. 

Other nights Sam or Bucky shake the other out of their nightmares and chase away the shadows with soothing touches and gentle kisses. There are blueberry pancakes in the unjudging quiet of the kitchen as the rising sun creeps in through the curtains.

Occasionally Steve calls to let them know everyone is still okay and that they’re working on a plan to stop Ultron from wiping out the human race. 

Sam takes Bucky to the store and they buy apple pie and vanilla ice cream. They eat until they’re both sick and lie curled together on the floor to watch reruns of “I Love Lucy” when they can’t sleep that night.

When Steve calls for the last time to let them know that they’re finally taking the fight to Ultron Sam realizes that he’s hopeful for a positive resolution to this fight for more reasons than just the obvious, now.

He wants his friends to make it out alive and of course he wants Ultron to be defeated.

But more than that he wants this way of life he has with Bucky to continue, unhindered. He wants nights spent gorging themselves on ice cream to marathons of _Star Trek_ and _Gilligan’s Island_. He wants more dates to the movies and the pizza place around the corner. He wants hours of listening to Bucky speak Russian and German and meals that always taste better when Bucky’s there to make them with him. 

Sam doesn’t want to pack up off to New York for a fight they both know neither of them can win if the Avengers are defeated. 

When he comes out of the bathroom the next morning to a breakfast spread of omelets and bacon and hash browns waiting for him, a distracted Bucky busying himself at the stove with nothing on but one of Sam’s oversized sweaters and socks, Sam notices, rather undeniably, that he’s in love. Hopelessly, pathetically, soul achingly in love. 

Sam can hear the news anchor on the television in the otherroom loudly decreeing the Avengers’ victory against Ultron and his cell phone is buzzing insistently against the wood of the kitchen table. “Trouble Man” fills the room with Marvin Gaye’s soft croon.

Sam ignores all of that in favor of sliding up behind Bucky and dropping a kiss onto the elegant curve of his throat, exposed to his attentions by the way Bucky’s got his hair pulled up into a messy bun while he cooks. He can almost hear the grin on Bucky’s face before he sees it, loosening his grip around Bucky’s waist just enough for the other man to turn in his grasp, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, voice still hoarse from use after the several rounds of sex they’d enjoyed the night before. Sam could get used to this, he decided. Getting to see Bucky wearing his clothes, his bruises, his beard burn, making breakfast in their kitchen every morning. 

Sam grins and reaches up to playfully tug at the knot of hair on the back of Bucky’s head, nose nudging alongside the other man’s.

“Hey yourself,” he sighs against kiss bruised lips, tasting the sunshine in Bucky’s smile. 

“Steve said he won’t be home for another couple of weeks. Insisted that he has to stay behind and help with the cleanup before he can leave in good conscience,” Bucky chuckles warmly, letting Sam pick him up and place him quickly on the counter before his muscles surrender to the weight of Bucky’s metal arm, legs spreading easily for Sam to slot between them.

“Is that so?” Sam hums agreeably, reaching behind Bucky to turn off the stove and moving the frying pan of sausage off the burner before he returns to the task of finding out whether Bucky’s wearing anything beneath that sweater, fingers teasing across tanned flesh. Bucky’s peeling it over his head without a word and tosses it onto the floor, a hand on the back of Sam’s head to guide him where he wants it to be right now. 

“Trouble Man” starts up again in the background as if to highlight this proclamation. Sam ignores it. Steve can call again later but right now there’s a beautiful man named Bucky that Sam loves more than all of existence looking down at him like he’s the sun shining bright overhead, with Sam’s love bites on his skin and mouth swollen from Sam’s kisses. Their friends are alive and Bucky loves him, too, and there’s nothing else in the universe that matters right now except this.

“I guess we’ll have to find some way to pass the time until his return,” Sam mouths against Bucky’s hipbone, relishing the way cool metal fingers slide over the back of his neck before balling around a fistful of Sam’s t-shirt. 

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us occupied,” Bucky croaks and Sam smirks against his thigh at the breathless tone in his voice, licking a stripe along a ropey scar before turning his head to nuzzle his pelvis just shy of where Bucky wants him. 

Sam always expected his life after the war would be pretty straightforward and predictable. He’d continue his work with the VA, meet a nice girl, settle down and have a couple kids, get a dog and a nice house. Maybe take a desk job with the military when he got older and needed to put away for college funds and the like. 

Those plans, of course, did not include falling in love with a man named Bucky Barnes who enjoys blueberry pancakes with extra blueberries and movie marathons in his underwear, but, Sam thinks, all things considered, he’s okay with the way things turned out.

He was always more of a cat person, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> If incoherent text posts about superheroes and Sebastian Stan's face are your thing you can find me on tumblr [here!](http://samwilson.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do wanna note that despite Sam's initial train of thought and the way Bucky and Steve interact there is no Steve/Bucky romance in this fic, past, implied, or otherwise. I'm not a terribly huge fan of the "Sam is just there to replace Steve or Bucky for the other" trope in fics. Steve and Bucky's friendship is just very intense and close in the canon and I'm continuing that through to this story.


End file.
